


I was so alone and I owe you so much

by mary_w_marlowe



Series: I built my life around you and now you are gone [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach, Pre Reichenbach, Red Pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_w_marlowe/pseuds/mary_w_marlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 2x03 Sherlock BBC when Sherlock and John spend the night at Bart's before Sherlock jumps. John's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I was so alone and I owe you so much

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of these characters. Some of the dialogues are from the Sherlock BBC.
> 
> I would like to thank the wonderful Popaliloup for her patience and all her help with this silly story. All remaining mistakes are my own.

********************************************  
 _“…you do count. You have always counted and I have always trusted you. But you were right, I am not ok. Molly, I think I am going to die”, Sherlock said._  
*******************************************

“I got your message,” I said as I walked into the Bart’s lab finding Sherlock siting on the floor, bouncing a small ball against the wall.

“The computer code is the key to this. We find it, we can use it to beat Moriarty at his own game,” he said, fast as he always spoke. “Somewhere in 221B, somewhere on the day of the verdict he left it hidden…”

I drummed my fingers on the table and then I sank down onto a chair, trying to think about where could Moriarty hide the computer code in our apartment, but my mind wandered to thinking about this whole mess and how did we get into it in the first place. I was trying hard to find a way to help Sherlock. He needed my help even though he didn’t admit it. I remembered the hurt look on his face when it took me a moment to consider if I believed all the gossip about him not being real. He needed my help. 

I kept my eyes on Sherlock, who was standing braced on one of the tables, his head hanging between his shoulders. He seemed tired, exhausted actually. He must have felt my gaze, because he raised his head and for a second he looked like he wanted to school his face into the perfect mask of calm he wore for past few days, since Moriarty started this big chaos, but he didn’t. 

I subconsciously felt that something was about to happen and I started to stand up, worried: “What’s wrong, Sherlock?”, when he walked the few steps to me, grabbed me by the jumper and picked me up so I stood upright very close to him. I had to look up to Sherlock’s face as he was taller, and the expression he wore was making me breathless. Before I could actually figure out why, Sherlock kissed me. Kissed. Really. He was hanging onto my sweater and his lips brushed mine very softly. And then again. Sherlock was kissing me. My brain was so confused I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t move away. And I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to. I should want to, I am straight; I am not interested in Sherlock like this! Why was he doing this? It’s not like this is something he likes, something he does, is it?

Sherlock backed away a little bit, just enough to rest his forehead on mine. His eyes were closed and he took several deep breaths. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I got distracted by his lips, that parted slightly when he sighed out my name in a way, I haven’t heard from him before.

“Sherlock…?”, I whispered back. It sounded half like a question, half like a moan to me, and it must have sounded the same to him, because he opened his eyes. He unclenched his hands from my jumper and brought them to my face and slowly cupped it in his palms. My arms, until now just hanging by my side, reached for his arms, and when our mouths met again, I held onto him for my dear life.

He was putting desperate small kisses on my lips, cheeks, eyes, wherever he could reach. Each one was fast and almost frantic, just falling anywhere and everywhere. His fingers were smoothing the skin where his lips previously touched. My heart was beating way too fast, his nervous energy was getting to me, but I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t, I didn’t want to. 

After what felt like hundred scared kisses, he stopped and pressed his forehead to mine again, his eyes again closed, like he was scared to face me, to face to what he has done. I wasn’t sure, why was all of this happening or where was it coming from, if I wanted it or not, if it was right or wrong, but at that moment I just didn’t care. I reached for Sherlock’s hair and pulled him closer to me. And then I kissed him, properly. 

I pressed my mouth to his, to that soft curve of his upper lip and then I took the full bottom one between mine and sucked on it. I traced it with my tongue and suddenly I was inside of that gorgeous mouth. I had no idea I thought of it as beautiful until that moment, but obviously I did. I touched his tongue with mine, circled around it, tasting him, tasting Sherlock. Until that moment Sherlock barely moved, his body close to mine, but not pressing; his mouth listening to mine, his hands on my face, unmoving. Like he was observing, which I guess he was. But then he moved, his hands dropped to my back, pulled me closer, our hips came together, and I felt his obvious erection against my own - not very subtle one either. 

Oh, God, I was hard from couple of kisses, like a teenager. But then Sherlock did two things at the same time that got my brain to totally stop working; he poured himself into the kiss with all the emotions, energy and frustration - maybe even fear- of the past days and he rocked his hips against mine. That would break even a stronger man, and I myself was swooped of my feet by the sheer force of it.

The kiss was messy, two tongues fighting, tasting each other. I didn’t even realize that Sherlock was moving us, until I felt a wall behind my back, as he pressed me against it. My hands were in his soft curls, pulling his head closer into me, bringing myself closer to him. When the crazy kiss ended, we were both short of breath; my head was spinning and Sherlock moved to my neck without hesitation.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, wait”, I started to press him away wanting to talk about what was happening, but I got instantly distracted by the feel of Sherlock’s chest muscles moving under my palms as he lifted his. Suddenly, all I could think about was that I wanted to feel his skin. He was watching me as I traced his collarbone with my fingers and then slid them to the open collar of his shirt. I started undoing the buttons, my fingers revealing his naked skin. I was getting frustrated by how small the buttons were, and the button holes even smaller, the silky material sliding from my fingers, not cooperating. But then suddenly, I was at the last one and I didn’t hesitate and pulled the shirt out of his trousers.

Oh, God, he was gorgeous. He has always been, I just haven’t paid attention until this moment, I guess. I ran my palms from his abdomen upwards to his neck, enjoying the smooth skin. He was watching me until I reached his shoulders and then he started kissing me again. It was perfect, he was perfect and I wanted him badly.

“John, I want you.” It was insanely hot to hear that from Sherlock. “Yes,” I whispered simply and reached for his mouth again. “John, I want you to have me… Will you?” What kind of question is that? “Yes, anything, everything.” Just kiss me again. Instead he took a step back, then another one and suddenly he was on the other side of the room reaching for his coat. No, what? Did I answer his question wrong? Why is he leaving me? I suddenly felt cold.

But then he put the coat on the floor and sat on it, reaching for me. “John.” I needed nothing more than that. I took his hand and let him pull me down to my knees in front of him. He started kissing me again and slowly lied down, taking me with him until I was on top of him, cradled between his thighs. His shirt was still open and I decided to get it off him. I started to push it from his shoulders, which wasn’t easy at all; especially when he decided to take my jumper and shirt off at the same time, our hands and arms were in each other’s way. But we managed, somehow.

He stopped at the button of my trousers. “May I?” “Anything, Sherlock, everything…” I’ve said it already and I know he hates repeating. I realized how much must he care about not doing anything wrong. I moved slightly, pushing off him, so he could reach for the fly easily. I waited, holding my breath as he slid the trousers of me and touched my cock through the thin fabric of my pants. Had I known how this day ends, I wouldn’t have worn my most ridiculous pair of pants – bright red y fronts. But Sherlock, instead of laughing, squeezed my hard shaft and traced his thumb over the wet spot made by the leaking cock.

“Red? Oh John, you are so full of surprises.” I just chuckled in response and licked his collar bone. His hand felt amazing even through the fabric of my pants. He wasn’t stroking me; just slightly brushing his fingertips up and down my length, teasing me. 

Then I kissed his right nipple and he stilled immediately. I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want my mouth there or because he wished more as I myself felt weird when a girlfriend tried playing with this part of my anatomy, but I decided to caress the small bud with my tongue and was rewarded with Sherlock arching his back off the floor into my touch and his hand squeezing my cock. The intensely positive response made me go a bit wild, biting, teasing each of his nipples into oversensitivity. Sherlock was gasping with each touch, unconsciously holding onto my prick.

“John…” I smiled at how breathless he sounded. I looked into his face and almost lost myself in his eyes. I kissed him. I couldn’t help myself. When his hand started to stroke me, I grabbed it and pushed it away from me. “You…” I whispered. I wanted to tell him that he was getting me close, that I wanted to touch him everywhere before I came but I had hard time keeping my mouth off his body. I moved through his neck and torso, finding my way down, until I reached the top of his trousers.

A thought of ‘Ok, brace yourself, you are about to see another man’s cock…’ and right after that another one ‘Sherlock’s... Wonder if it is as long and pale as the rest of him’ crossed my mind. I made short work of the button and fly and pushed both layers of clothing off his hips so his penis sprung free.

I knew he was hard, but seeing his obvious desire for me, oh, wow. Yes, his cock was long and pale pink just like the rest of him. I took it in my hand. It felt different than my own, but familiar at the same time. The angle was wrong. And the smell, I have never smelled male desire and need from this close. It was overwhelming, the way it made me want to touch more, feel more, feel closer. 

I needed to taste him. I needed to connect with Sherlock and his desire. I needed to feel it. I wanted to know everything about him. I placed a small kiss just below his uncut head. His skin was burning hot under my lips. And incredibly soft. Soft. Soft. Thin and tight over his hard shaft. 

I kissed his whole length up and down several times. And then licked with the flat of my tongue everywhere except his head. He was squirming underneath me, wiggling, trying to get more of my mouth, but I held his hips down and explored him.

When I took the head of his cock between my lips, I heard Sherlock’s very loud and very happy moan. “Yes, John.” I held there for a moment, his precome leaking into my mouth and then I tasted it, licked it off with a generous stroke of my tongue. I heard another explicit groan and his hands that were until then fisting the coat under us, came to my hair and grabbed hard.

He wasn’t pushing, but I knew he wanted me to take more of him into my mouth. And so I did. I rarely didn’t follow Sherlock’s orders, right? It was weird at first, I didn’t know where to put all those centimetres of flesh. But then I simply grabbed the base of the cock and covered what I couldn’t fit inside with my hand. I didn’t get a chance to figure out more or even get any rhythm going on, when he started to pull on my hair and said “Stop…” I stopped immediately. Shit. “Sorry, sorry.” I didn’t realize I was that crap at blowjobs. 

“Shut up. It was too good. Your mouth felt too good, so shut up.” I hid my grin into his hip. He started to wiggle underneath me again, and when I raised my head, he held a small tube of a generic brand of lubricant easily found in hospitals in his hands.

“You planned this?” I asked surprised.

“I hoped…” he smiled shyly. 

“Oh God.” I whispered and took the bottle from his hands. “Are you sure about this?” I asked. 

He wiggled underneath me trying to work both his pants and trousers off at the same time. “Yes. I have been sure for a while.” His answer surprised me further. He has wanted me for a while? God! I wanted to ask why tonight, why he chose now for letting this happen, but I didn’t. Instead I helped unclothing him by removing his left shoe. Before I could move to the other one, he slipped his leg out of both layers and took the sock with it. “Leave it. Not important.”

“I haven’t done this before…” I felt a bit embarrassed that my experience was so narrowly focused. “Tell me to stop at any time.” I moved back between his legs, lowered with my head aligned with his hips. I pushed his knees wider apart, opened the bottle, squeezed some of the gel on my fingers and then put it aside. “Stop me anytime.” I reminded him.

I slid a bit lower so I saw where my hand was going and with my slick fingers I started right under his balls and traced down over the small pucker of his anus and slowly back up. I did this several times, teasing over his opening but not stopping and breaching into it.

“John, please.” Shit. I froze, a jolt of desire going straight to my own neglected cock. Sherlock voice was impossibly low and hearing him saying please was doing crazy things to me. I shouldn’t have given him such an obvious response, now he will manipulate me with hot words and I will do exactly what he wants. Doesn’t matter. I want what he wants anyway.

I spread more lubricant on my fingers and palms and I reached with my right hand for his cock and with the thumb of my left traced the pattern of his opening. He sighed heavily and pushed his hips into my touch on his anus. I didn’t really expect that and I didn’t retreat fast enough so the tip of my finger breached him a little bit. Sherlock moaned wildly. 

I pushed into him a bit deeper, twisting in almost full circle, massaging the stubborn muscles that were squeezing tightly. And suddenly his passage was drawing me in, Sherlock was swallowing my finger deeper into himself. “Slow down,” I said, out of breath.

God, he was gorgeous. I took my thumb away, and instead probed him with my index finger and pressed inside him in one fluid movement. For a second I was worried I was too rough, but he moaned a beautiful “Oh!”  
I started finger-fucking him and he pushed into the movement. My other hand on his cock was almost still as he used it, pushing in and out. I knew exactly when he reached the moment of a need for another finger and he didn’t have to encourage me to add my middle finger on the next push. He groaned his appreciation. I was lying still, holding my body in the position that pleasured Sherlock and watched him. I didn’t know where to look, if on the spot where my fingers were getting lost inside him, or where his penis pushed into my fist, or to watch his face, that showed exactly how much he liked it.

Then he stilled and looked down at me. “Now, John. You.”

“You are not ready.” I tried to protest.

“I have had a sufficient preparation. I like it a bit rough, anyway. I want to feel you stretching me.” Shit. I needed to close my eyes against that. I needed to take a deep breath and think of something else for a bit. I didn’t think he meant this as dirty talk, he was just giving me instructions and expressing exactly what he expected of me, but dear God, it was hot.

When I felt I could look at him again, he was staring at me expectantly. I just nodded, not trusting my voice and opened the lube once again. I slicked myself thoroughly and squeezed some more into his slightly open hole. He said rough, but I was not going to hurt him.

“I am clean” I said. 

“I know… I am too. I would never put you into any danger, you know that.”

I raised my eyebrows to that. He kept putting me into harm ways on daily basis. “You know what I mean.” He puffed a bit annoyed. I grinned. 

“Right.” I said, clearing my throat, suddenly nervous. I rose a bit on my knees and positioned his legs so his feet were flat on the floor covered by his coat and forced him to bring his hips up a little. With one hand I guided myself to his opening.

As the head of my cock breached him, we both gasped for air. His muscles were squeezing me tightly and I started to rock gently to help them to ease up. As I felt them relaxing, I pushed slowly, bit by bit into the tight and incredibly hot passage. I was holding his hips still and stared into his face, looking for any signs of discomfort, but I saw only absolute focus and warmth.

Then I was all way inside him. I lowered myself and kissed him, waiting for him to get used to the stretch. I kissed him with my whole heart. I couldn’t believe he let me this close to him, that he wanted me to touch him this way. I kissed him slowly, but he wasn’t having any of it, and kissed me back passionately and almost furiously. 

“God, John, move…!”

I gripped his hips and slowly pulled away and then pressed back in. It was marvelous. I wanted to see it. I wanted to see myself breaching him. I rose to my knees, bringing his hips up as well, and watched my cock moving almost all the way out and then disappearing inside that amazing pale body. 

Sherlock’s reaction was incredible. He moaned a loud “John!” and I realized I must have found his prostate.  
I slid out and in again, earning another beautiful whine. I kept the pace slow and each press inside was strong, creating a wet sound, accompanied by Sherlock’s throaty moans and groans. 

“Harder, John.” I wanted to say that no, I am not going to be any rougher with him than I already was, but then he added “I want to feel you tomorrow, like you were still inside me.” Shit. Shit. I couldn’t stop myself from pounding into him in the most punishing rhythm I was capable of. I was losing myself in the amazing feeling of fucking the most amazing man on the earth, his body welcoming and hot, he himself enthusiastically meeting me mid-thrust, moaning, crying out my name, holding onto me.

I was getting close fast. I couldn’t spare a hand to reach his cock, as I was holding his hips in the angle I saw he enjoyed the most. “Touch yourself… I am fucking close…” I was awaiting his ‘Obviously, John.’ But instead he just simply shook his head.

“No need… I am close too…” His curls were sticking to his sweaty forehead and his eyes were wild. I didn’t break my rhythm, watching him, wanting to see the moment when he loses it. It was difficult, hovering on the edge, fighting the need to orgasm, but I was no teenager and I was determined to see Sherlock coming before I let go.

It took just a little while and it was a sight. He went very still and as his untouched cock started spurting out come, he opened his eyes, looked at me and said my name. He didn’t scream even though he has been quite loud until now. He almost whispered it, his eyes talking about pleasure and more. I came, shocked, without really meaning to, somewhere mid-slide, the heat in his gaze pushed me over the edge.  
I collapsed mostly on top of him, tucking my head under his chin. Sherlock was running his hands up and down my back absentmindedly as we both tried to catch our breath. 

After we managed that, I placed a small kiss on the hollow of his neck and eased myself out of him. I couldn’t help myself to not check quickly if I haven’t hurt him, but he seemed all right, actually he looked delicious with my come seeping out of him.

I felt a bit awkward, not sure what to do as I stood up. In any other situation I would or cuddle next to my lover or cleaned up and left. Neither seemed to be the right choice in this situation. I looked back at Sherlock, who was wiping between his legs with a handkerchief. I reached to help him, but he waved me away. So I did the only thing that was left to do – I pulled up my trousers and slipped into my shirt and jumper. There was some drying semen on my belly but I ignored it, I had nothing to clean it with. Sherlock was pulling up his trousers, still not wearing the left shoe. Taking care of that was the next thing he took care of, and I then he murmured something about cleaning up in the toilets, barely meeting my eyes, picked up his shirt and coat before he left the room.

I sat on the closest chair, determined to wait for him and force him to talk about what happened the minute he got back. As I closed my eyes for a minute, past few days came crushing on me and I felt bone tired. I closed my eyes for just a minute…

Well, that’s what I thought, but the next thing I knew was my phone ringing which woke me up. Shit, I fell asleep. “Doctor Watson” said the caller. “Yes, speaking.”

Mrs Hudson has been shot, oh God. I immediately told them that I am on my way, hung up and turned to Sherlock who was sitting with his legs on the table.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Paramedics. Mrs Hudson has been shot” I was in a hurry, already reaching for my coat.

“What? How?” Sherlock didn’t even move.

“Probably one of the killers you managed to attract… Jesus, Jesus. She is dying, Sherlock, let’s go.” I was already at the door.

“You go, I am busy”

I turned around, not really believing my own ears. “Busy?”

“Thinking. I need to think.” How can he be so calm?

That made me angry. What the hell? “You need… Doesn’t she mean anything to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her.”

“She is my landlady.” He shrugged, sounding bored. Bored. Our friend is dying and he sounds bored. How is this the same man I made love to just couple of hours ago? How can he sit there calm and unaffected?

“She is dying… You machine… Sod this… Sod this… You stay here if you want, on your own.” I yelled at him. I said something I didn’t really mean, but I saw all red and I wanted to make him pay, make him hurt.

“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.” Does he really believe that? I didn’t have the time to stop and explain how false that statement was. “No. Friends protect people.” is the only thing I managed to say as I rushed out of the door.

I got a cab to the Baker Street and when I saw Mrs Hudson all right and well, I realized my mistake. Moriarty. He just needed me to get out of his way. Sherlock knew. That’s why he pretended to not care. He pretended, thank God for that. My relief was swept away when I remembered my hurtful words. ‘You machine.’ Oh God, did I really say that? And even that was forgotten as I ran to the street, jumped into the nearest cab, yelling “Police” on the intended passenger to get him out of my way. I am sort of police, right? And I needed to get to Sherlock, now. Moriarty had him alone. 

**************************************************  
 _…“Goodbye, John.”_  
“No. Don’t. Sherlock!”…  
**************************************************  
**************************************************  
 _…“I was so alone and I owe you so much… Oh please, there is just one more thing, one more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t be dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it, stop this…”_  
*************************************************


End file.
